


run on gasoline

by noctiphany



Series: little beasts [95]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Crossdressing, M/M, Mental Health Issues, little beasts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-07 21:20:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21224378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noctiphany/pseuds/noctiphany
Summary: The thing is, Graysoncouldbe standing here in the mental hospital killing it in a four thousand dollar red dress or --and this is the likelier scenario-- it’s all in Apollo’s head. It wouldn’t be the first time.





	run on gasoline

**Author's Note:**

> There is literally no porn in this I should be arrested for crimes. The M is just for bad words and like, the general nature of the whole thing. Also, if anyone wants to know what the dress looks like [this](https://www.valentino.com/en-us/short_cod3983529957803543.html#dept=US_Dresses_W).

Apollo is about to head out to the common room for group when Dick Grayson waltzes into his room, flashing a key card, a fake badge, and a little bit of leg. Apollo catches the brief hint of a holster high up on his thigh. Might hold a gun, could just be a knife. Could be a flask of gasoline and some matches, you never can tell. Apollo doesn’t really care.

“You’re wearing a dress.” 

He’s not sure when exactly, but Apollo knows that at some point he had just accepted that crazy was his new normal. Right now, Dick Grayson is standing in front of him looking like a snack in a dress that really should’ve busted his cover because no actual psychologist could afford to walk around in fucking Valentino. 

“I know, right?” Dick says, cocking one hip to the side. Apollo has to admit it does fit him really well. “I mean I’m used to showing more skin when I wear dresses, but I had to look professional, you know.”

The thing is, Grayson _ could _be standing here in the mental hospital killing it in a four thousand dollar red dress or, and this is the likelier scenario, it’s all in Apollo’s head. It wouldn’t be the first time. They started out as nightmares, back when he was still a cop. Then when he landed himself in this joint, they were dreams about finally busting him and his family. He dreamt about M catching them and bringing him Wayne’s head on a silver platter. Then, sometimes he has other kinds of dreams, but those are mostly all the same. Dick Grayson on his knees, that pretty mouth stretched around his cock, Apollo’s hands around his throat. 

Freud would just have a field day with him. 

“Don’t you have a children’s hospital to burn down or something?” He asks and Grayson just grins and puts his fingers to Apollo’s lips. Even now they still smell a little like smoke and gasoline. Apollo wonders if he just came from a fire or if that particular scent is just a part of him now, under his skin. That no matter what he does, he can’t wash the smell off. Kind of like what Grayson is to him. No matter how hard Apollo tries, Grayson’s always there. Hallucinations, dreams, reality, no place is safe. He's a part of him now. 

Once, Apollo had tried to cut that part out of him. It didn’t go well. 

“Shhh,” Grayson says. “I’m a doctor_._”

“Hmm, nope,” Apollo says, narrowing his eyes at him as a few of the actual doctors pass by in the hallway. “Pretty sure you’re not even real.”

Dick just beams up at him, licks his pretty, shiny red mouth. He's got on full makeup and it looks good and M has a slightly hysterical moment where he wants to ask him if he did it all himself. Or if one of his little brothers have a makeup artist on the side. “M said you were messed up,” Dick says. “He didn’t say you were _ this _much fun, though.”

Apollo ignores him and goes back to his bed, grabs the paperback he was reading and turns to the page he left off on. 

“Come on,” Grayson says and when Apollo looks up he’s waving his fake ID and badge at him. “Don’t you like field trips?” 

  


: : : 

  


Grayson, impersonating an actual doctor and with enough forged documents and records, had convinced them to let Apollo leave for a few hours, just to let him get away from the echo chamber of crazy he’d been living in for the past six months. Just long enough for Grayson to slash his throat or set him on fire, whatever particular brand of murder he was getting off to at the moment. 

It’s a very elaborate hallucination, Apollo will give it that. But he’s so glad to see the fucking sun again he doesn’t care if its real or not. When he sets foot outside the center he just stands there for a moment, eyes closed, listening to the sounds of the city, all the noises and voices that make it seem alive, like it’s own entity. Apollo used to be a part of that noise, he used to be a part of the city, of something important. And everything just keeps on going even without him there, like the world would be fine without him. Like maybe it’s been a much better place since he’s been getting doped on the regular and eating pudding for every meal. Probably, he should stop feeling jealous of a goddamn city.

“So,” Apollo asks as they stop in front of food truck and Grayson orders a snowcone with every color syrup they have on it. Apollo gets blue. “How’s my husband?” 

“He’s good,” Grayson says, slurping at his snowcone. “He talks about you all the time. Well, it’s usually threatening me to stay away from you. But.”

He shrugs and all Apollo can do slurp at his own snowcone. 

“Does he let you fuck him or -- no, it’d be the other way around, wouldn’t it. No way M would pass up the opportunity to rail an ass like that, even if it did drive me to a psychotic break” 

Grayson turns and looks up at him -- Apollo has at least three inches on him -- and grins, lips and teeth already stained bluepurplegreenpink. 

“I haven’t heard _ that _one before,” he says smugly. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Apollo clarifies. He feels like that’s important. Being clear, in situations like this. His fake snowcone is starting to drip down his wrist, sticky and cold. “Your ass had no effect whatsoever on my mental state.” 

Grayson just grins, then grabs Apollo’s wrist and licks the streams of blue that has started running down his arm, licks all the way up his forearm, then fucking winks at him before letting go.

“You’re fucking insane," Apollo tells him.

“Now that,” Grayson says, giving him finger guns. “That I’ve heard.” 

  


: : :

  


“What do you want?” Apollo asks at the park. Dick had bought some bird seed and he’s been standing in one spot trying to recreate that scene from Home Alone 2 for the past twenty minutes. 

Dick looks over at him blankly and frowns. “I thought you said you’d seen the movie.”

Apollo sighs. “No. I mean yes, but. Why did you bring me here? What. Do. You. Want.”

Dick opens his mouth to say something, but then he freezes and Apollo watches the kid’s eyes light up like it’s Christmas morning when a reddish-brown bird lands on Dick’s outstretched arm and perches there to nibble bird seed out of his hand. When Dick looks back over at Apollo, he actually _ looks _like a kid, face flushed wit excitement, smiling so much it looks like it hurts. More birds come after that, one, then another, then another.

Dick makes Apollo fish his phone out of his back pocket and take a picture for his Snapchat story. 

When all the birds have flown off, Dick finds a large grassy area and plops down on it. In a Valentino dress. Apollo has no idea why he’s fixating on _ that _of all things, but in his defense, it is truly ridiculous. And he is, technically, insane. 

Dick lays down on his back on the grass, hands behind his head and looks up at the sky. “Come on,” he says, patting the ground next to him. “Look at clouds with me. It’s therapeutic. Trust me, I’m a doctor.” 

Apollo lies down in the grass next to him. It feels cool and a little damp beneath him, the sun warm on his face. He and Grayson are shoulder to shoulder and when Apollo breathes in, he thinks he can smell M’s cologne. “You’re not a doctor,” he says. “You’re a murderer.”

“Dragon,” Dick says, ignoring him, then raises his arm and points to a cluster of clouds to the left of Apollo’s vision. “Wait, no. Dragon riding a horse.” 

The wind blows and the clouds shift, ever-changing. “Bottle of ketchup,” Apollo says, pointing at a particularly weird cluster of them. He was never very good at this game. Between them, M's the one with the creative vision. Apollo likes to rely on logic, on reason. Or, he used to. Now he's lying on the ground next to a criminal who's fucking his husband.

“I like him,” Dick says, voice lower than it’s been all day, a little softer. “It's weird.”

“Bunny,” Apollo points at a single cloud, then sighs. “There wasn’t really any other way that was going to end.” 

M doesn’t do casual. He used to think so, when he was younger, but it always fucked him up. He’s not the kind of person who can separate sex and fucking. Apollo knew from the first time he found out that this was going to happen. Because if M fucked him, that meant he already, in some fucked up kind of way, liked the kid too. It sounds crazy, sure, but Apollo knows a little about that. 

“He’s getting close,” Dick says. “Really close.” 

“Good,” Apollo says, then points at another cloud. “Gun.”   


**Author's Note:**

> Stay tuned *eyeballs emoji*


End file.
